


Ficlets

by WellSchitt



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: (a belated fix it), Bridget Jones's Diary References, Embarrassment, Episode: s05e11 Meet the Parents, Light Angst, M/M, Patrick's sexuality, Pornography, Wedding Planning, accidentally traumatizing a girl scout troop, complicated family relationships, misunderstanding taxes, neck kisses, proposal, sexual guilt and hang ups, silliness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-25
Updated: 2020-06-10
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:14:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 8,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21557602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WellSchitt/pseuds/WellSchitt
Summary: 1. Neck Kisses2. The Girl Scouts3. Refunds4. The Guest List5. First (e)6. Gone (tw)7. One Condition8. The Apology9. Watch it Together (e)10. Unprecedented11. Okay, Fine12. After
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 172
Kudos: 553





	1. Neck Kisses

“Why do you do that?” David blurts out, briefly rubbing over the spot on his neck where Patrick had just kissed him hello.

“Do what?” Patrick asks as he settles into the desk in the room behind the register, pulling out a stack of invoices to work through.

“That kiss. The neck kiss thing. Because at first I thought it was, like, maybe to hide that you were kissing me-”

“Excuse me?” Patrick spins the chair around to face him, suddenly giving David his full attention. “Why would I want to- wait, do you think I’m _embarrassed_ for people to-”

Anxiety spikes through David immediately at his tone. It’s too soon after the Rachel debacle for another fight.

“No, no, stop. I thought you were being- stop it, stop whatever it is you’re thinking, I just thought you were being discreet. You have to admit, it’s a very hideable place to kiss someone, if you’re careful about it.”

“I’m not careful about it.” Patrick looks up at him with equal parts amusement and indignation. “I kiss you all the time.”

“Yes, I’m aware. My family is aware, the whole town is aware. That Girl Scout troop you traumatized is _definitely_ aware.”

“The sign said ‘Closed’!” Patrick says, like he always does, as he blushes crimson, like he always does, whenever David brings up the Girl Scouts. “I still had to take down the produce tables, but I’d flipped the sign. It’s not my fault their troop leader let them barge into a _closed_ store.”

David waves his hand. They’re getting sidetracked. “I said I _used_ to think that. Obviously now I know better. And I don’t think you’re into my neck in some, some pervy way, so-”

“Excuse me, I am absolutely into your neck in a pervy way. I’m into _all_ of you in a pervy way.”

David rolls his eyes. “Yes, thank you, the Girl Scouts and I are well aware. I meant that my neck isn’t, like, a specific _thing_ for you, sexually speaking. The neck kisses are- they’re-” As much as David used to tease Patrick for struggling to talk about their sex life, it’s still sometimes difficult for David to talk about the nonsexual stuff, the unearned and unparalleled affection Patrick lavishes on him. “They’re not a, a _fetish_ or something, is what I’m trying to say. Because when we’re-” —making love— “when we’re fucking, you aren’t mauling my neck or whatever. So the neck kisses aren’t, um, _that_ , and they aren’t about being discreet, so I’m just wondering why you go out of your way to kiss my neck sometimes, instead of, um, my cheek. Or my lips.”

 _I mean, you’re not_ that _short_ , David doesn’t say, barely stopping himself in time.

“Look at you, Detective Rose.” Patrick leans back. “Does it bother you?”

“Why would it bother me?” Ugh, that would be fucking typical, if this conversation makes the neck kisses _stop_ just when David is beginning to realize how much he likes them, looks forward to them. “You know what, never mind. It’s not like it matters, I’m not- I mean, there probably isn’t even a specific reason, right?” His heart sinks. “It’s probably a- a habit from before, another relationship, or-”

“The opposite.” Patrick smiles at him, a little shy. “Prepare yourself, David, because this is going to get sentimental for a minute. Like… truly saccharine.”

“I’m prepared.” He’s always prepared for unexpected sweetness when he’s with Patrick.

“Do you remember the first time we hugged? After the store opening, the congratulations hug?”

In David’s mind it’s the Unresolved Sexual Tension Hug rather than the Congratulations Hug, but he nods.

“I knew before that night, that I was feeling, uh, things. New things. But when my mouth was suddenly _right there_ , so close to your skin… you’re right, I don’t have a neck fetish, but God, thinking about how close I was to you, how if I turned my head just a little, just a couple of inches… hugging you while just _thinking_ about kissing your throat was the most erotic thing that had ever happened to me.” His lips tilt a bit and he huffs, self-deprecating, like he knows exactly how sad that is. “In the moment, it felt like everything I’d been scared to want, I guess. That one spot, with your stubble and your jawline—I could smell your aftershave, cedar and smoky, very… very masculine.” He purses his lips and shrugs. “That’s when I decided. That moment. As risky as it was, to the business and our friendship, that moment… it galvanized me, and I knew I had to try.” He meets David’s eyes. “So to answer your question, David: I’m quite fond of that spot on your neck. I owe it a lot.”

It turns out, David had _not_ been prepared.

He blinks. Then he blinks again. But blinking isn’t working, so he turns his back to Patrick entirely, digging his nails into his palms and staring up at the ceiling.

Patrick steps up behind him and kisses his neck, which under the circumstances is just rude.

“Utterly saccharine,” David whispers, voice wobbling. He closes his eyes, allowing two large tears to spill out.

“Hmm. Sorry.” Patrick doesn’t sound sorry. He kisses higher up, just beneath David’s ear, before gently spinning him around. David feels warm hands on his face, a thumb against his cheek, and then Patrick’s mouth on his, hot and urgent. 

Patrick has him against a wall before David remembers, and gently pushes him away. “Patrick. No, Patrick, wait. The Girl Scouts.”

Patrick groans, and jogs away to lock the door.


	2. The Girl Scouts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tiny, tiny companion piece to the last chapter--a few people asked for the Girl Scout troop backstory <3

“We can wait until we get home,” David says, rolling his eyes.

“I can’t,” Patrick replies, already untucking his shirt. “You look so good in those jeans, been driving me crazy all day.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere.”

“Flattery will get me everywhere. I got you to a _hockey game_ by saying you’d look cute in my jersey.”

“Hm, well that wasn’t really flattery, though, because I did look cute in your jersey.” David watches in amusement as Patrick strips off his shirt in the middle of the stock room.

“You really did.” Patrick dips his head forward, kissing David’s shoulder, then his neck. Then he groans—which must be how they miss the sound of the bell.

“Are you having sex?” a small, curious voice asks from the doorway to the main floor.

“Holy shit,” David shrieks, as Patrick’s arms instinctively fold over his chest.

Troop 33 stands in the hallway, all wide eyes and giggles.

Behind them, with her hand over her niece’s eyes, stands troop leader Ronnie Lee, glaring right at Patrick’s bare chest.


	3. Refunds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was prompted by someone at the Rosebudd, but I can't seem to find it again there.

“I’m sorry, _how_ much per pair?”  
  
David didn’t repeat it. He knew Patrick had heard him the first time.  
  
“Yeah, no. We’re returning them.” Patrick set the box on the table and held out his hand.  
  
“But Patrick...” Clutching the pants, David tried to make his eyes do the thing Patrick’s always did, the thing that upsold old ladies and could, if necessary, get David out of bed at 8 a.m. on their day off.  
  
“Absolutely not.”  
  
“It’s- it’s a write off, though, isn’t it?”  
  
“Your $800 luxury jeans are not a write off, David.”  
  
David mumbled something about uniforms, branded aesthetic experiences, and refunds from the government.  
  
Patrick’s eyes widened, but it wasn’t his Gwen-you-deserve-the-chutney-AND-the-brie look. It was somehow the opposite of that look. “David. Please tell me you don’t think we get refunds for the things we write off. Please, please tell me you were paying more attention than that when I walked you through the Department of Finance instructional website.”  
  
After a long pause, David asked tentatively, “Do we only get a partial refund?”  
  
Somehow Patrick’s eyes got even wider. He took a deep breath like he wanted to say something, or maybe yell something, but nothing came out.  
  
“Fine! Fine, I’ll return them.” David frowned down at the pants. _Someday._  
  
“Good. Thank you.” Patrick still looked a little dazed as David repackaged the jeans and grabbed his wallet to go to the post office.  
  
“Does this mean the government won’t reimburse us for the espresso machine, either?” he asked over his shoulder on his way out, just to be a dick. He’d really wanted those jeans.  
  
“What espresso machine? David! _David, what espresso machine?_ ”


	4. The Guest List

“We’ve got to call your parents,” David murmured against his pillow as Patrick played with the rings on his left hand, tracing them with his index finger and occasionally choosing one to kiss. “We should have done it already.”

“They already know.”

“You called them? When?” He tried not to sound surprised—he knew Patrick was trying, with his parents.

“Well, they knew I was going to propose. They called to wish me luck on the show, so…” He shrugged. “And then I texted that night, that you’d said yes. While you were taking forever figuring out what you wanted for dinner.”

“You _texted_?”

Patrick sucked David’s ring finger into his mouth, swirling his tongue over the two bands there.

“You should call them.”

Sighing, Patrick gave his finger on final, petulant suck before saying, “I sent them one of our selfies, with the rings.”

Ugh. David had practically still been in tears in those pictures—he wished he’d been able to keep himself together long enough for a decent photo. “Ok, but you should _call_.”

“Now?”

“Why not?”

Patrick leaned down to try and suck on his finger again.

“ _Now_ ,” David said, heroically tugging his hand away. Then, “Well, soon. I mean, it can wait until after coffee.”

Patrick rolled his eyes, but stood to make David’s coffee (and his own tea). The post-engagement high was making him more biddable than usual.

—

“They’re going to have a guest list of about 50 people that they want us to invite,” Patrick said before dialing, as David settled on the other side of the couch with his coffee. “And my mom is going to want her minister involved somehow, if not performing the actual ceremony, and he’s one of the worst public speakers I’ve ever heard. Oh, and my dad might joke about wearing Hawaiian shirts instead of tuxes. So just… be polite and noncommittal for today, please, and we’ll deal with the rest of it somewhere down the line.”

“I’m always polite,” David said, and proved it by _not_ pointing out that deciding to deal with things ‘somewhere down the line’ seemed to cause 90% of Brewer family problems.

“You’re never polite.”

“I’m always polite to your parents.” David amended. “Now tch!” He pinched the air in front of Patrick’s mouth. “Stop stalling.”

Frowning, Patrick hit the button for his parents’ house phone.

—

The minister wasn’t even mentioned, and no guest list was enumerated. Clint and Marcy said all the right things without once overstepping—honestly, given Johnny and Moira Rose, David didn’t understand how Patrick expected _his_ parents to be the interfering ones.

In the end, Patrick was the one who brought up the guest list. “It’s going to be small, so if there’s anyone you wanted to, uh, to have there… just, um, remember that we might not be able to squeeze everyone in-”

“Oh, no, dear, we wouldn’t want to meddle. You boys invite who you want to invite, don’t worry about us.”

David shot Patrick a look— _see, what were you so worried about?_ —but Patrick wasn’t looking at him. He was staring at the phone in his hand, his face turned down and away.

After an awkward pause, he said, “Ok. Sure, great. Then we’ll… we’ll let you know if we need addresses, I guess. If that’s ok.” There was another pause, and Marcy started to say something, but Patrick cut her off. “Anyway, we’d better get going. Lots to do today.”

Well. Speaking of politeness.

Also, the store was closed on Sundays. They had absolutely nothing planned.

Craning his neck, David tried to make Patrick look at him, but his fiancé stayed focused on the phone.

“Of course, sweetheart. We love you. Both of you,” Marcy said, then added hesitantly, “Thanks for calling.”

“Congratulations,” Clint added. “And David, welcome to the family.”

“Mm. We’ll talk soon,” David said, distracted, waving for half a second before realizing they couldn’t see him. “And, um. Thanks. Thank you.”

“Bye, Mom, Dad. Love you.”

And Patrick hung up the phone.

—

It took four hours, sex, a shower, lunch, and some aggressive cleaning before Patrick would admit to David what was bothering him.

“It’s stupid.”

“Tell me anyway.”

“They…” Patrick bit his lip. “They had a guest list, when it was Rachel.”

David sat down abruptly on the couch. “Oh.”

“No, don’t- shit. David, they love you. You know they love you, I didn’t mean… but I don’t…” Patrick dug his fist into his thigh. “I don’t know. Maybe it has nothing to do with- with anything.”

“Maybe,” David echoed.

“God damn it. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“No.” David stood up again, taking Patrick into his arms. Patrick was the one who needed comforting here. David’s issues could wait. “Of course you should have. And it’s- it’s fine. It’s _our_ wedding.”

“Yeah, but I just- I want them to be as happy as they were, when- no, I want them to be _happier_ than that. Because I’m so much happier.”

“I know.” David pet his shoulder and kissed his temple, feeling useless.

“They seemed excited, when I told them about proposing.”

“They are, honey. But maybe it’s more, um, more complicated? In terms of who to invite from their, ah, circles?” David hedged. _What’s the nicest way to say ‘maybe your parents’ friends are homophobic assholes’?_

“I guess.” Patrick pressed his forehead into David’s shoulder, and they stood there another minute before letting go.

“I’m making you some tea,” David said.

Just then, his phone buzzed in his pocket.

 **Marcy, 2:08 pm:** Please don’t hesitate to let us know if there’s anything we can do to help with the planning. Just between us, I’m glad you two are doing something small. Patrick gets so overwhelmed with big events. Anyway, we’re here to help if you need us. Love you! Congrats again!

While he was still reading, two more texts came in, one right after the other.

 **Marcy, 2:09 pm:** PS if you’re looking for a minister, ours would be happy to work with a rabbi for an interfaith ceremony. We asked him today after the service.   
**Marcy, 2:09 pm:** No pressure, but he did baptize Patrick and has known him all his life. Just something to think about.

“Quick question: did you by any chance freak out in front of your parents at some point about the size of you and Rachel’s doomed wedding?” He held out the message for Patrick to read.

“I freaked out about pretty much everything, just before I left. Everything except for the actual problem.” Patrick had a soft smile on his face. “Maybe Pastor Walter could lead a prayer or something?”

Pastor Walter, yeesh. But David nodded, politely and noncommittally.


	5. First

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Apology porn for olivebranchesandredwine <3
> 
> The prompt was to write a story in three sentences. I edited it a bit for AO3.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for somnophilia (kind of)

David had been so cautious, so gentle, so prepared for Patrick not to like it, that he’d been totally unprepared for how Patrick had actually responded: his wide-eyed shock, his frantic moans, and especially the wild, mindless way he had pushed back onto David’s dick again and again, begging for it until his words all slurred together into a long, hoarse shout. Biting his lip a little guiltily, David wiped the lube from his sleeping boyfriend’s balls and ass with a warm washcloth. Patrick had to be sore, Jesus, and yet he moaned at the contact, legs spreading even in his sleep to chase the feeling.  
  
“Oh, I’m going to have so much fun with you,” David whispered into his ear as he cleaned Patrick up, a little more thoroughly than was strictly necessary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE that the next chapter has themes that a lot of people might find upsetting. I'm putting the specific warnings in the notes there, too, but since it's only three sentences, please don't even click to the next page if you aren't in the mood to be sad and/or possibly weirded out.


	6. Gone (tw)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My original three-sentence story, and the reason I had to write apology porn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for major character death and het sex involving a gay character

Patrick and Stevie lay naked side by side on a motel bed, liquor-soaked breath still coming fast. It was just two hours after the funeral.  
  
“I can’t believe he’s gone,” Stevie said, her voice hoarse and empty.  
  
Eyes closing, Patrick began to sob.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BUT IT WAS ALL JUST A NIGHTMARE AND ACTUALLY DAVID IS FINE.
> 
> Also, the point of this fic is that Patrick lost the love of his life, got drunk at the funeral, and was so desperate to feel close to David that he slept with the only other person who misses David as much as he does, because grief makes people do illogical things sometimes. Patrick is gay in this fic. He’s not attracted to Stevie. Sometimes people have sex with people they aren’t attracted to, for a variety of reasons. It happens *in real life* (rarely, obviously), and I don’t think it’s inherently problematic to write about that. I understand that some folks disagree, and I’m happy to engage about it.
> 
> I won’t engage with random internet strangers calling me a homophobe on anon based on a few sentences I wrote for a spur of the moment fanfic prompt. I experience homophobia on the daily. I know what it is. Don’t need a lecture from some tumblrite who thinks sending anon hate is the pinnacle of queer activism.


	7. One Condition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My 'Meet the Parents' fix it.

“Sure, you can have my blessing... on one condition,” Stevie said, after hugging him—which was itself a sign, he knew. Patrick had only ever seen her hug Roses, and that only rarely.

He waited, thinking that this was going to cost him at least half a case of the Prosecco.

“Talk to him about what happened at your surprise party.”

Patrick’s brows shot up. “What? Why? That was,” —he paused, counting— “Stevie, that was five months ago.”

“Mmhmm. And did you two ever talk about it?”

“Of course we did.”

“Really?” Her usual sarcasm came flooding in like a tidal wave. “You talked about the fact that you let David think, for months, that your parents knew about him? You apologized for lying by omission, and you made it crystal clear to him that _you_ fucked up? That _you_ were the problem, not him?”

“Yeah, I… yes, I apologized. Of course I apologized. And he- he knew- he didn’t think it was about him. He knew it wasn’t. He just- he understood. He understood that it was me, my baggage.”

Patrick wished he’d sounded surer, there. Jesus.

But he was right… wasn’t he? David hadn’t made it about himself, not for a moment. He’d waved away Patrick’s apology before he could even say it.

Stevie paused, holding her knuckles against her lip for a long moment, before responding, “We got stoned the next day. You were out with your parents, and he was too embarrassed to be around them. Or you. He was too embarrassed to be around anyone, actually, because he was dealing with the fact that _everyone_ knew you hadn’t told your parents about him—and everyone knew that he’d assumed you had. Like, fucking _Roland_ knew that he’d been your dirty little secret.” Patrick tried to interrupt; she talked over him. “His parents. Alexis. Me. Half the town, by the end of the weekend.”

“It wasn’t- he wasn’t my ‘dirty little secret.’ Don’t say it like that.” He wanted to sound angry, or at least stern, but it came out pleading and defensive.

Merciless, she ignored him. “Do you have any idea how stupid that made him feel?” There was real fire in her eyes, and steel in the set of her jaw. “And it’s not about everyone else knowing—that was just the icing on this shitty cake—but he felt so stupid for assuming. Because he didn’t blame you for not telling them, Patrick. He blamed himself, for thinking that you would. So I spent the whole day listening to him talk about how obvious it should have been, that you wouldn’t want to tell them about him. How sorry he was that he’d forced you into it. How maybe you’d have come out to them earlier, if you were dating someone less… you know. Someone _less_.” She shrugged. “He felt stupid for assuming that your relationship with him was something you’d be proud of.”

Patrick opened his mouth, but couldn’t answer. He didn’t want to answer. He wanted to leave, to turn away from her, to go back to five minutes ago when he’d been blissfully unaware of how deeply he’d hurt David that day. Most of all, he wanted Stevie to be wrong, to have somehow gotten it all wrong this time—but she was Stevie, and David was David, and Stevie had never once been wrong about David, not in all the time Patrick had known her.

It was infuriating. Patrick got David wrong all the time.

Fuck.

“I’ll talk to him.” It was all he could manage to say.

Apparently, thank Christ, it was enough.

“Then you have my blessing,” she said, still looking a little grim.

He nodded and tried to smile. He couldn’t, so he turned to leave instead.

“Wait! One more thing. Don’t let David pick some stupid couture bridesmaid’s dress, because I’m 99% sure the feminine version of David’s style is, well. Mrs. Rose.” She shuddered.

She was trying to smooth things over, to show him that she forgave him.

Patrick couldn’t joke back. He didn’t feel like he deserved it. “I’ll do my best,” he said weakly, and left to find David.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First thing I've written in a couple months--I've been pretty sick. Hopefully I'm turning a corner :)
> 
> I feel like Stevie generally stays out of their relationship issues (besides letting David vent about them), but Patrick asking for her blessing would be a good moment for her to let loose if something had really bothered her.


	8. The Apology

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some folks asked for Patrick's apology, as a sequel to the previous ficlet <3

Scowling, David moved slowly around the store searching for nacho-orange fingerprints in the bottom four feet of displays. He’d already set aside two bars of soap to repackage, plus a candle that was likely beyond repair. Maybe he’d give it to Alexis for her birthday.

Ugh, could you legally ban children from a private retail environment? He’d have to ask Patrick later… or, speak of the devil, he could ask him now. Patrick came in the door slowly, balancing two drinks and a small paper bag that David hoped was for him.

—

The cinnamon roll and hazelnut mocha almost salvaged David’s day, but then he found a new spattering of at least twenty tiny orange fingerprints and went back to hunting for more with the concentration and gravitas of a crime scene investigator.

In the five minutes she’d been in the store, Ray’s niece had somehow managed to get her Dorito-dusted paws all the way up to the eco-friendly water bottles. Fuck, had she scaled the bookcase? David began searching for dirty footprints on the lower shelves.

Combined, the snacks and the ravages of the hyperactive proto-human distracted him from Patrick’s mood for at least ten solid minutes. He only noticed there was something wrong when he’d finish wiping down almost every surface in the main room.

The next time he caught Patrick’s eyes, he raised a brow and tilted his head: _Come on, out with it._

But instead of telling him what was wrong, Patrick looked away again immediately. Then he walked out of the room entirely, heading to the back for no reason David could see.

Well. Patrick would talk to him about it when he was ready.

—

Over the next ten minutes, David imagined two separate scenarios in which Patrick broke up with him, one in which Patrick had cheated on him, and one in which Patrick had just been diagnosed with cancer.

“What?!” he half-shouted as he burst into the back room. “What? What’s wrong? What did I do?”

He was being over-the-top so Patrick would tease him, reassure him.

Patrick just sighed and scratched his head. The silence hit David like a truck and he cowered away from it, wary.

That finally got Patrick talking. “No, David, you- you didn’t do anything. You’re fine.”

“But are _we_ fine?” Not necessarily the same thing.

“I…” Patrick looked up at him from his spot at the desk, obviously unhappy.

Small licks of panic began creeping up David’s spine like fire.

Then Patrick said, “Do you have any idea how lucky I feel, that you want to be with me? That you, uh. That you love me?”

David froze, staring. If this was some kind of trap, it wasn't one David had ever encountered before.

 _Patrick doesn’t_ do _traps. You know that._

“Because I do. I feel so lucky.” Patrick was standing now, walking toward him, and David was still frozen. Still staring.

“I’m sorry if I ever made you doubt that.”

“You haven’t,” David denied automatically.

“My birthday,” Patrick said, tugging David into his arms. “I should have… explained, I guess. Because it was never about hiding you from my parents, or from- from anyone. God, I want the whole world to know about us, that you- that you would choose me, that someone like you would ever-”

Ok, that was enough of that. Patrick looked like he might start crying, and David was wholly unprepared to handle that. He could only take so much in one day, and the dorito fingers had already been a lot.

“Are you trying to butter me up for something?” he asked, stepping out of Patrick’s arms and narrowing his eyes, desperate to lighten the mood a little. “Because I already said yes to the sport-thingy window display for your big denouement-”

Patrick rolled his eyes, just like David had known he would. “It’s not _my_ denouement, David—Jesus, it’s the Stanley Cup-”

“So why are you- what is this? Why is this happening?” David gestured over Patrick’s mouth, only half-teasing now.

“Are we sure you’re really Canadian-”

“Are you trying to get laid? Is that it? Or are you trying to get out of going to-”

“I’m just trying to apologize,” Patrick interrupted, exasperated. “That’s it, that’s all, no ulterior motive.”

“But _why_?” David shook his head, wide-eyed. Patrick rarely apologized; to be fair, he rarely needed to.

“Because I was wrong! I was an ass! I prioritized my- my stupid personal issues, my baggage, over your feelings. I never apologized for it, and I should have. You deserved an apology.” He said the last sentence like an accusation.

“So you’re doing that… now. Five months later.”

“Yes!” Patrick crossed his arms over his chest.

_He’s in the middle of apologizing for being an insensitive ass, and he’s getting pissy because I’m not responding the way he thought I would._

God, David loved him.

“Fine. Apology accepted.”

That clearly threw him. “Wait, you don’t want to talk about it? Or-”

“Patrick.” David put his hands on his strong, broad shoulders. “I forgive you.”

The bell on the front door chimed, breaking the moment. David squeezed once and went to meet their customer.

—

Patrick was unusually quiet for the rest of the day, still stewing about something. He finally came out with it as David locked the doors.

“I want you to tell me, if I do something that hurts your feelings. You know that, right?”

“Dear god, are we still talking about this?”

“Oh, what, because we did such a thorough job of talking about it earlier?"

"I'm sorry, I guess I don't understand why a... a little faux pas from five months ago is suddenly-"

"Because I don't ever want to hurt you, David! That's not 'little.' Not to me. And I don’t want you feel like you have to hide it, or pretend like everything’s ok if it isn't. So just… promise me.” He stopped walking towards the car, like he wasn’t going to move until David promised. "Promise me you'll tell me, next time I'm being an oblivious jerk."

“Seriously? Do I not complain enough already?” David asked, but a strange, vulnerable warmth was spreading through him.

“Promise me, David.”

“Ok, fine! Fine. I promise.” He bit back a smile.

Patrick nodded, still looking serious, and began to walk again.

“You’re being weird,” David informed him.

Patrick just shrugged, and they drove in silence the whole way to the apartment.

—

“So… you want me to tell you whenever something upsets me…”

Patrick tensed in the middle of opening the apartment door.

“The hockey window display.”

Patrick’s jaw clenched and his head fell back, exposing his neck as he stared at the ceiling in disbelief.

“I just don’t think it fits our brand? And it hurts me when things don’t fit our brand-”

“We’re doing the window, David.” And, confusingly, Patrick pulled him into a hard, deep kiss, dragging him into the apartment and slamming the door behind them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't make it as angsty as I'd originally conceived, sorry :P


	9. Watch it Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rated E, and tw for mentions of porn, coming out, and various interrelated sexual hang ups

David took in the scene in front of him, not bothering to hide his amusement.

Patrick stared back at him, wide eyed and blushing on the bed in Ray’s guest room, embarrassed in a way David had rarely—or never—seen. Sitting on the bed with lube, some tissues, and his laptop open beside him, he was utterly caught out and he knew it.

“You’re here early,” Patrick said, his expression set to buffering.

“Mm. I am, a little. Ray gave me a key, by the way.” David raised his eyebrows, deciding not to make this situation a single iota easier for Patrick (due to a renewal of body-milk-related teasing that day at the store). “So… whatcha doing?”

Spell broken, Patrick cut his eyes away and scrambled to get decent, yanking his pants up and wiping his hands hastily on a tissue. “I’ll- sorry.” He shut the laptop with more force than necessary. “I didn’t- it’s-”

“You don’t have to do that.”

Patrick froze in the middle of replacing the tissue box on his nightstand. His ears were bright red, his eyes trained on his hands. “I know. I’m sorry. It was stupid.”

He sounded more afraid, now, than embarrassed.

David stepped closer. Revenge for the body milk jabs would have to wait. “I meant, you don’t have to stop. You could put it back on and we can finish your, ah... movie. If you want.”

Patrick shook his head a fraction. “No, I- I don’t need to. I’m sorry. We haven’t talked about- about that, I shouldn’t have-”

“Patrick, hey. Relax, alright? I’m teasing you. It’s fine, I’m not upset. It’s all good. Just… relax.”

“Are you sure?” Patrick sat back, still looking a bit nauseated. “My ex- um. My ex, one of them, she didn’t like it, if I…” He waved a hand toward the screen. “I should have asked you.”

“Nope, no, nope, you don’t have ask me if you want to watch porn. I’m very sure about that. Watch all the porn you want.” Feeling guilty, David reached for the laptop to turn it back on.

“I don’t want you to think I’m, uh, checking out other guys. Or whatever.”

David smiled at the screen where Patrick couldn’t see him. “That’s very sweet of you? But porn doesn’t count. Porn is just… porn.”

“I’d barely started the video.” Now that he’d managed a few full sentences, Patrick seemed to be in a rush to explain. “I probably won’t be into it, anyway. I never have been, before.”

“Uh huh. Have you tried, since you realized you’re gay?”

The blush flared up brighter than ever. “No. Not until ten minutes ago.” Patrick shrugged. “It was dumb. I don’t need to watch two random guys. You’re- it’s not like I’m even interested in other, other people, or-”

God, the poor, stuttering button. “Let’s watch it together, then. Maybe you’ll like it more than you have before.”

Without waiting for a response, David settled next to Patrick on the bed, pushing his shoes off. When Patrick didn’t immediately object, he leaned in and clicked play.

A man who looked a little like David was on the screen, clearly about to bottom.

The other man in the video looked nothing like Patrick, which was disappointing. He was tall, East Asian at a guess, with short black hair and broad, muscled shoulders.

“Well. He’s handsome.”

“He reminded me of you.”

“I meant the other one. He’s… phew. _Built_.”

“I guess.” Patrick clenched and unclenched his fist.

Jesus fuck, this was just sad, honestly. David had been aware, peripherally, that Patrick had some hang ups about sex. He’d come by them honestly, from fifteen years of trying to force himself to feel a certain way about it, trying to understand what the big deal was and why everyone seemed to get it but him.

In the month since they’d gotten together, David had never really _seen_ those issues, though. Not like this.

“Can I try something?”

“David, it’s fine, I don’t need-”

“I know it’s fine. I just think this could be fun. If not, no biggie, ok? We’ll stop.”

Patrick shrugged (for about the dozenth time in the last five minutes), but then he nodded. David hit play again, and pushed and pulled Patrick around until he was sitting in between David’s legs, leaning back against him.

The top on screen began rimming the bottom, and the bottom let out a breathy little moan.

Patrick shifted his weight, still radiating tension.

_Start with the part he feels guiltiest about._

“He’s hot, right? The muscly one?”

Patrick nodded; David could feel it against his chest and shoulder.

“What do you like about him?” _It’s ok, Patrick. You’re ok._

He almost thought Patrick wouldn’t answer. When he finally did, it was nearly a whisper. “His chest. And- and his arms.”

“Right? God, those arms. I bet they’d look great holding someone up against a wall.”

Patrick inhaled shakily.

“Touch yourself,” David whispered into his ear. He thought Patrick might object, but his hand flew to his cock, tugging it out of his track pants like he’d been waiting for permission.

They watched for a few moments in silence, Patrick squirming and writhing just enough to give David a tantalizing hint of friction.

“What do you like about the other one?”

“He looks like you,” Patrick repeated quickly.

“Hmm, that’s flattering. What else, though?”

“Um. His thighs.”

“Yeah? Are you thinking about fucking them?”

“Shit. Jesus, David.” He sounded wrecked.

David snuck a hand around to play with Patrick’s nipple through his shirt.

After only a couple more minutes, Patrick was clearly already teetering on the edge, so David decided to push it.

“He’s big, too. Fuck, look at that huge cock.”

“Yeah.” Patrick said, his voice breathless.

“Imagine _that_ coming on you, your stomach, your chest.” Patrick had a thing about David coming all over him. “While the other guy held you down with those arms…”

“Oh, fffu-” A few drops of come landed on David's arm where it was wrapped around Patrick's chest, and his bucking hips dragging against David’s aching cock.

Ignoring his own need for now, David held him through it.

—

Later, just before they fell asleep, he snuggled into Patrick’s shoulder. “You know it’s ok to fantasize, right? Like… I want that for you.”

“Mm. Mostly fantasize about you.” Patrick sounded half asleep, but he tightened his arms around David’s middle.

“Well. That’s fine, too, I guess.”

“Goodnight, David.”

“Goodnight, Patrick.”

“And David… thank you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Irrational guilt from years of repression can manifest in all kinds of shitty ways.


	10. Unprecedented

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to SamWhamBam for the prompt: David lets himself be silly in front of Patrick for the first time <3

“How have you not seen this? How?” David is visibly appalled, waving one of Ray’s DVDs worryingly close to Patrick’s nose. His eyebrows are as indignant as Patrick has ever seen them. “Did you spend 2001 in a- in a dungeon somewhere? Or in, like, Antarctica? Cleveland?”

Patrick sighs, trying to resign himself to the fact that someone named Bridget Jones is about to co-opt the rest of their second date.

The earlier part of the evening had gone according to plan: Mediterranean in Elmdale (quite edible), supermarket pints of ice cream for dessert (clearly a win, judging by the way David dove face first into his Chunky Monkey), and good conversation on the drive home. But then Patrick had said ‘Want to watch a movie?’, because he thought that was a universally recognized code for ‘Want to make out?’ when asked at the end of a date.

Unfortunately it seems that for David, ‘Want to watch a movie?’ is code for ‘Want to watch a romcom?’

“It’s a masterpiece, I swear to God, I’m about to change your life.” He’s practically vibrating while he loads the DVD into Ray’s ancient player.

Ray, who is out of town on a rare overnight business trip.

Patrick opens his mouth, prepared to beg, when David says in a horrendous attempt at a British accent, “This is an occasion for genuinely tiny knickers.”

“I’m sorry, _what_ was that?” Patrick laughs, startled. He expects David to blush and wave him off, to shift back to his usual studied nonchalance.

Instead he practically bounces over to Patrick, eyes glinting, and says in an even worse accent, “Wait a minute, nice boys don’t kiss like that.” Then he pecks Patrick on the mouth, which is the right direction as far as Patrick is concerned. He tries to kiss him again, but David bats him away with a smile Patrick's not sure he's seen before.

It's the uninhibited version of David's smile, he realizes after a moment. It's unrestrained, uncool—and unprecedented.

“No! No, now you say, ‘Oh yes they fucking do,’ but in a kind of, hm, like a posh English sex growl.”

“Oh yes they... what?” Patrick cocks his head, and David's smile only gets wider.

“Ok, see that? _That_ is what you’re missing out on! That is what makes this an emergency situation.” He bounces back to the DVD player and presses play, then snuggles chastely into Patrick’s side.

God, Patrick could look at that unbelievably beautiful smile for hours.

Except he can't, actually, because David is closely monitoring him to make sure he's giving Bridget Jones the proper amount of attention and respect. For the rest of the movie, he smacks Patrick's knee impatiently anytime he tries to speak or move, and occasionally just for emphasis when he feels the film has reached a critical point.

—

“I like you very much, just as you are,” Patrick whispers in David’s ear an hour and a half later, and he gets his make out session after all.


	11. Okay, Fine

“Okay, so how should I set up the picnic?”

The mood wasn’t exactly romantic, despite David making a herculean effort to salvage the day. Patrick’s foot was throbbing, David looked overheated in that feathery thing he was wearing, and they’d both spent the last ten minutes feeing simultaneously embarrassed and petulant over their respective tantrums.

Patrick needed a mulligan.

“Yeah, I think it might be a bit late for that. Why don't we, uh, why don't we just take in the view for a little while, and then we'll save the picnic for another day?”

David wiggled impatiently. “Okay, I didn't carry you up a mountain not to eat cheese after, so...”

_Love of your life, he’s the love of your life, you love him even when he gets hangry and annoys the shit out of you._

Patrick had known when he planned this picnic that hiking wasn’t David’s thing, but he’d also known that David would want their photos of the proposal to be stunning. Stunning was hard to come by in Schitt’s Creek.

Well. In Patrick’s eyes, any picture with David in it would be stunning. But David would care about the backdrop.

“I don't know, David,” he hedged.

David perked up, scenting weakness. And cheese. “Okay, just tell me what to do, and I'll set it all up.”

 _It doesn’t have to be perfect_ , Patrick thought, and the voice in his head sounded like his father. And Rachel. And his high school baseball coach, his thesis advisor in grad school, and his supervisor at his first real job. And even a little bit like David.

_Besides, you know you’re never, ever going to get him up this mountain again._

“Okay, fine.”


	12. After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takes place after David turns Patrick into a cheeto.
> 
> tw for anxiety

Less than fifteen minutes after Stevie left, Patrick pulled on his battered gray hoodie and went for a long, long walk. He told David to lock up if he left, hoping he’d maybe take the hint and go home for the night.

So naturally, David was elbow-deep in a sink full of dishes when Patrick got back  around ten o’clock , wearing one of Patrick’s old tshirts and a cautious expression. “Hi,” he whispered, frozen at the sink, as Patrick tossed his keys on the counter.

“You cleaned,” Patrick said blandly, staring around the room to avoid looking at his fiancé.

Floors had been swept, clutter tidied up. There were fresh sheets on the bed.

David shrugged, eyes somewhere around Patrick’s knee. “How was your walk?”

One side of Patrick’s mouth twitched down. “I think we should talk about it tomorrow, okay? I’ll drive you home.” David usually stayed the night these days, but tonight, for just one night, Patrick needed some space—and he couldn’t get it in a studio apartment with David Rose, who filled every room Patrick had ever seen him in with his presence.

“Oh,” David said on an exhale, like all his worst fears had just been confirmed. Patrick felt a spark of guilt, but he stomped it out immediately, annoyed at himself. He was angry, and he had a right to be. It wasn’t unreasonable to want some space to clear his head.

“I’ll finish those,” he said, gesturing at the sink. “Come on, get your bag.”

Moving with short, jerky motions, David did as he was told. He was pale— _even_ _ paler than me for once _ , Patrick thought bitterly—and he gathered his things quickly and silently, until Patrick grabbed his keys again.

“Don’t- I can walk. You don’t have to drive me.”

“David-“

“No. No, you always- you do nice things for me all the time. I can walk tonight. It’s fine.”

“It’s cold out,” Patrick said, trying to keep his exasperation out of his voice. “And I wouldn’t make  anyone walk home  at ten o’clock at night, okay? It’s not a big deal.”

“Oh,” David said again, even softer than before. Then, in a fake tone Patrick almost never heard these days, “You aren’t making me, though, I’m offering. Besides, you were literally just out there for what felt like hours—it can’t be  that cold. I’ll be fine.”

Patrick stared at him, keys still in hand, but David didn’t meet his eyes. His expression was somewhere between a kicked puppy and Ray being told they wouldn’t be ordering any mousepads.

It was impossible to tell if he was being manipulative, or if Patrick was just feeling particularly uncharitable and suspicious.

“Fine.” Patrick tossed the keys back onto the counter with a little more force than was strictly necessary.

“Okay,” David said, meeting his eyes for a fleeting moment. He looked spooked, like he hadn’t expected Patrick to actually go through with inconveniencing him. Patrick sucked his lower lip into his mouth and bit, hard, to stop himself from saying something he’d regret later.

“I love you,” David said quietly as he opened the door.

And in a moment of pettiness Patrick wasn’t proud of, he replied, “Text me when you get home, David.”

Just before the door closed, he heard the tiny, hurt sound David made as he walked away.

—

David,  10:21 pm : I’m at the motel.

David,  10:25 pm : I’m very, very sorry about today.

Patrick watched as the ellipsis indicating that David was typing appeared again, then disappeared. It appeared and disappeared twice more before he put his phone face-down on the bedside table and closed his eyes.

He didn’t have any new texts the next morning.

—

The light was already on in the store as Patrick crossed the street with his tea. There were only two possible explanations for it, and of the two, burglars honestly seemed more likely. The store had been robbed once, after all—David had never come in before eight.

But no, there he was at six a.m., sitting on the stool at the counter, hunched over his laptop.

Well, there went the hours Patrick thought he had to prepare himself for their talk.

David jumped so badly when he walked in that he nearly fell off the stool. His hair was a wreck and his eyes were bloodshot and bleary, but he was wearing a different outfit than last night, so Patrick was reasonably sure he hadn’t slept in the back room.

“Good morning,” David said meekly. His eyes darted to Patrick’s hand. “Shit! Sorry, I was going to get your tea, but I... I lost track of time.”

“David,” Patrick said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I appreciate that, but you know that getting me tea and washing my dishes isn’t going to solve this, right?”

David’s lip trembled, and Patrick wanted to shut up. He wanted to skip the conversation and jump to the part where David was smiling again.

That had always been his strategy with Rachel, though, and look where it had gotten them.

No, he had things he needed to say, things David needed to hear. And David probably needed to express some anger or hurt feelings about Patrick being a dick last night, too. In the long run, this was better. Healthier. Even if David’s eyes filling with tears made Patrick feel nauseated.

“Have you had breakfast?” he asked, softening his tone. No good could come from talking to David before his coffee and pancakes. David shook his head, and Jesus, he really looked terrible: his lips were chapped, and the bags under his eyes made even Patrick’s fingers twitch towards the eucalyptus serum. “Want me to go get you something from the cafe?”

Jumping off the stool, David clutched his hands into his hair and started to pace. “Breakfast doesn’t matter,” he said, which was frankly alarming, coming from him. “I’m not hungry, you don’t usually eat until after your tea, so just say what you’re- just say it. Say it! You have to talk to me, you can’t refuse to even- to even  _ talk _ to me."

Patrick took a step back and raised his hands—half placating, half defensive. “I know we need to talk. I only asked because-”

David turned away from him, facing the back of the store, and seemed to crumple. “You’re putting it off, because that’s what you do, but if you’re going to- to break the engagement, I need to- we already sent out save the dates, so I need to...” The end of the sentence got lost in a sob. Still facing away from Patrick, he hugged himself tight across the chest, his shoulders shaking. “We don’t have to get married. But everything was fine before the wedding planning, right? So we don’t have to break-“ His voice cracked and he shook his head, hard, one of the big, overdramatic motions Patrick loved so much.

Patrick was struggling to come back online after what felt like a major software crash, but he couldn’t let that go unanswered. He took a step forward. “David, no, that’s not- where is this even coming from?” It had been ages since David last questioned their relationship like this after a fight. It used to happen sometimes; he’d spend the rest of the day tiptoeing around Patrick, trying to make himself smaller, quieter, less incandescent. Patrick learned to tease him out of it, riling him up until he was bright and radiant again, and eventually David had learned to trust that Patrick wasn’t perpetually on the verge of leaving.

“I’m- I’m sorry for turning you orange, and for not watching the baseball contest with you, and for not wanting ch-children, because I love you—I’m pretty sure I love you as much as it is humanly possible for me to love anyone. And I know I’m still really bad at it, but-” He was breathing hard, still clutching his arms around his chest, and Patrick belatedly realized that David was having a panic attack.

Jesus. “David, I need you to take a deep breath, okay? Deep breath in through your nose.” He wanted to hold him, but knew it could do David more harm than good during an attack like this.

“Are we still getting married?” David demanded, managing to sound fierce even as tears choked his voice.

Patrick couldn’t take it anymore. He spun him gently around and pulled him into a hug, careful not to tighten his arms too much. “Of course we are. Of course we’re still getting married. Jesus, David.”

“Oh,” David sobbed, letting himself be held. “Okay.”

“Sweetheart, we had a fight. It happens. But you’re _so_ good at, at loving me. Don’t say you aren’t. Being engaged to you is the happiest I’ve ever been.” He bit his lip, wondering if it was too soon to joke. “It’s just also, unfortunately, the tannest I’ve ever been.”

Three of the sobs became wet, miserable-sounding chuckles. Patrick counted it as a win.

After a couple more minutes of holding him as he calmed down, Patrick ventured to ask, “Do you have your medication with you? Should I get it?”

David pulled away, wiping at his eyes and reaching for a tissue. “No, it’s at the motel. I knew it was turning into a panic attack when I left, I should have- it was stupid not to take something.”

“It’s not stupid,” Patrick said, letting him blow his nose before wrapping him in another hug. “You, um… you haven’t had one this bad in awhile.”  _And I caused it, because I’m a complete and utter asshole_ , Patrick thought. He didn’t say it yet—they’d talk about that when David was a little calmer.

Shrugging, David snuggled against him again. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for making you deal with me like this, and for freaking out like this… on top of being a shitty, selfish fiancé, and turning you orange, and pushing you to get whisky with Jake, and not wanting kids, and day drinking with my mother instead of watching the- the basketball.”

“Are you done?” Patrick smiled against his shoulder, and he felt David relax fractionally in his arms.

“And for not knowing how to make lasagna.”

“Interesting that you’re apologizing for the lasagna, but not for peeing in my bed.”

David kicked his ankle, but otherwise didn’t dignify that with a response.

Squeezing his hand, Patrick pulled away gently. “Go sit in the back room, yeah? I’ll get us a snack and be right in.”

Nodding, David moved towards the back. He didn’t seem to want Patrick out of his sight, though, because he stood in the doorway wiping his eyes with his sleeves and sniffling into a tissue while Patrick got a glass of water from the small room behind the register, chocolate cream cheese from the small refrigerated section, and David’s favorite cinnamon bagels from a back shelf.

“I’m supposed to be on a diet,” David said hesitantly, watching Patrick open the bagels. “And you didn’t pay for that.”

“Drink your water, David.” Bagels open, Patrick pulled the lid off the cream cheese. “It’s a write-down for damaged stock. Can’t sell it if we accidentally damaged the packaging.” He tore off the seal on the cream cheese. “Oops.”

“Uh oh. Mr. Numbers Guy has gone rogue.” David smiled a tiny, blindingly beautiful smile.

“We aren’t damaging one of those handmade butter knives, though, so you have to dip.” He handed David a bagel and set the cream cheese on the table. 

Obligingly, David tore off a chunk of bagel and dragged it through the cream cheese. They both munched for a few minutes in silence. Patrick felt an adrenaline crash coming, and he could only imagine how David must feel. He nudged the glass of water closer to him.

David sighed and picked up the water, but didn’t drink. “I’m always fucking up, and you- you rarely do. So. It’s hard for me to understand why you’re happy with me, sometimes.”

“My screw ups are way bigger than yours, though. That balances things out.” It was true. He’d caused all of their major blow outs.

“Only because I overreact,” David countered, through a mouth full of bagel. 

“That’s not true. You under-reacted, if anything, on my birthday, because you are incredibly kind and patient with me.”

David shrugged, not yet able to hear good things about himself. “I wish you’d stop being so nice to me when I’ve fucked up. It just makes me feel worse. Like… I turned you orange. I don’t deserve chocolate cream cheese right now.”

“You always deserve chocolate cream cheese, love,” Patrick deflected. He’d really rather wait to have this talk until David had eaten, slept, and maybe taken an Ativan.

David’s lip ticked upwards. “You called me love.”

_My fuck ups aren’t all that rare, actually._ “David. I love you so much. I’m in love with you. And I was a giant douchebag for not saying it back to you last night.”

“You were angry. I get it.”

“No, nope, I was a giant douchebag.”

“You weren’t-”

“David. I was.”

“-a _giant_ douchebag,” David finished. Patrick watched, entranced, as the teasing mischief lit his eyes again for the first time since last night. “I’ll concede that you were a small douchebag. Medium, at the very most.”

“Also, you don’t fuck up constantly. No, really,” he insisted, because David shot him a look. “All those things you listed, I wasn’t… David, I was only ever upset about the spray tan. And, um. Maybe some other wedding-related stuff.” This probably wasn’t the time to talk about his feelings. David’s nose was still running, and Patrick was starting to doubt he’d slept at all. He should shut up, they could talk about it later.

_ You’re putting it off, because that’s what you do. _

“I feel like recently you’re more excited about getting married than you are about getting married to me, if that makes sense. And I’m happy that you’re excited about the wedding, I really am. But the deeper into this we get, the more it feels like I’m kind of… superfluous.” He was softening it—he’d planned to say something about how he didn’t fit David’s moodboard, how it seemed like his dream wedding was being planned to match some dream groom (or bride) that wasn’t Patrick.

He couldn’t bring himself to say that, looking at David’s puffy eyes and chapped lips.

“I’m sorry. That’s not- if you said that you’d only marry me if we did it at the Elmdale courthouse tomorrow, in rented tuxes, I’d do it. I just get... carried away. With event planning. And this is the most important event, like, in history, so.”

Patrick smiled softly. “To me, too. Which is why I don’t want to be orange for it.”

“You look better, today,” David said hesitantly, taking his hand and examining his wrist.

Patrick took advantage and trapped his hand, pulling it up to kiss it. “You feeling any better yet?”

“Mhm. Yes. So I guess we should, um, start opening the store, shouldn’t we?” His extreme reluctance to help open the store and his desire to hide that reluctance from Patrick were both clearly on display.

“Take a nap, David,” Patrick said gently, and stood to open the store.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't love this, but I've been struggling to write recently, and it felt good just to get something out. Also, anxiety is my 2020 Mood, so... there's that.
> 
> I feel like I've ghosted fandom friends the last few months, and I'm truly sorry. I love you folks, especially the Rosebuddies <3 The issue is that picking up my phone leads to checking the news, and as you might have noticed, the whole fucking world is a goddamn shitshow right now. So once I've checked the news, I'm generally not feeling very social. I'm working on it, though, since this is "the new normal" for a bit, and the fact that checking the news has become my only hobby is probably not great.


End file.
